


World of Hurt

by romanticalgirl



Category: Drive-By Truckers
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roll the credits</p>
            </blockquote>





	World of Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/)**inlovewithnight** for beta-duty.
> 
> Originally posted 8-7-08

Jason listens to Patterson and Cooley bitch about their wives – how they’re not there, how they miss their kids. He listens to them complain and moan and wail like old country songs, and he thinks he should feel something like guilt or worse, but he can’t manage it anymore. This tour’s been too damn long and too damn hard, and where having Shonna on the bus used to be something good, now it’s something less than that, and he doesn’t know how to say it to anyone, much less himself. Husbands and wives weren’t meant to be together all day, every day for days and weeks and months and what feels like mother-fucking years on end.

He holes up in his bed and turns on his music, trying to remind himself that it can work, he can make it work. He looks at Springsteen and…well, he looks at Springsteen, but Springsteen’s got a fuckload more money than the Truckers ever will, so he can afford to have his wife on another bus for a week or so or just fly from show to show. And Jason’s pretty sure that from the beginning Patti’s been the sole property of Bruce, off limits to the rest of the boys in the band.

Not that he thinks anyone’s been doing…anything with Shonna and not that he thinks Shonna would do anything like that anyway. Of course, he’s not sure if he thinks that or if he _has_ to think that, but either way, he does, and that’s all that matters. The problem is that it’s pretty damn clear that Shonna fits in here better than he ever has, better than he ever will. He can watch them from where he’s leaning against the wall, watch them play cards and drink and bullshit, and Cooley’s got his arm around Shonna like they’re the best of friends, and the worst damn thing about it all is that they are.

Jason’s tried. Hell, Cooley’s tried. But the truth of it comes down to the fact that he and Mike Cooley aren’t _ever_ gonna be friends. They’re associates and rivals, vying for Patterson’s attention and affection, and now they’re fighting for Shonna’s. Jason wonders sometimes if it’s just pure, mean spite - _and don’t fucking try to tell him Cooley doesn’t have a hot streak of spite in him, because Jason’s got a few scars and bruises on his skin and his soul that prove otherwise_ \- that Cooley’s so damn friendly with Shonna. Like he decided that Jason took a little bit of Patterson away from Cooley, so Cooley’s just returning the favor now, in spades.

He feels like an outsider, and maybe that’s what he is. Maybe that’s what he’s always been, and he’s the only one who hasn’t realized it, never realized it. Cooley took him in and under his wing just long enough to show Patterson that he did, and then he left Jason to his own devices. They’re different, and that worked fine, but now Jason’s seeing the cracks and fissures that the lack of effort on both their parts left. He sees it in Patterson’s face from time to time, looking from him to Cooley, trying to find a middle ground that doesn’t hurt somebody. Jason wants to tell him there isn’t one, but telling Patterson that would mean admitting that the choice was made long before Jason ever stepped foot on stage, in the bus.

Cooley and Patterson are like brothers and soul mates and Jason never asks if they’re more, and doesn’t care either way. Or maybe they’re like twins – their own language and feelings and something _beyond_ what anyone else can manage. Jason’s like the kid brother who tags along, and Patterson lets him and Cooley resents him, and that’s all there is to it. Cooley resents the time that Jason takes Patterson away, resents every last simple touch on stage or off, and so Jason’s the enemy and their drawing battle lines down the middle of a bus that’s already too small. Or hell, maybe Jason’s seeing things and it’s easier to blame Cooley than it is to blame Shonna or himself.

Shonna used to tease him that he changed when he fell in love with Patterson Hood. Shed his weight and his shy kid demeanor and became a _rock-n-roll star_ , and maybe it’s a little bit true. Maybe she was jealous of that, though if she was, he never noticed. He was too star struck by Patterson and too damn stupid in love with Shonna to notice anything. He does know that his heart started and he became _something_ when he got on stage. Maybe that was his first mistake, because taking Patterson’s time from Cooley meant Cooley and Shonna got to be friends, and Jason lost sight of the important stuff for a while.

No.

It has to be this, be now. Because before the tour it was something magical. He looked at her at Cooley’s house and he was in _love_. He was shit deep, head over heels, dumb-ass stupid in love with his wife. He loved everything about her, even the shit that annoyed him. He loved her face and her hair and her skin and her body. He loved her sense of humor and the fact that she could drink him under the table, loved the way she played the bass like it was a lover and loved the way she loved him. He was stone in love with his bass player, stone in love with his wife. He’s not sure when or what changed, because he still loves her, still feels all those same damn things. It just doesn’t seem to be the same anymore, which doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.

He tries to watch her objectively, and the first thing that comes to mind is she’s having a damn lot of fun. He knows that’ll change if he walks over there and joins them. He’s the black cloud that settles over the bus, kills the mood. Let ‘em have their fun, he reminds himself again and again. Just make it to the next town, the next show and eventually the tour will be done. It’ll end and everything will go back to normal, back to the way it should be. Of course, he’s not so sure the two are the same anymore.

**

He’s not sure when the decision gets made. He thinks it might be in San Francisco or maybe it’s Kansas City. Hell, maybe it was made in steps, a little bit closer to the admission of it on every city along the way. He can blame Minneapolis just as much as Topeka and Houston, can blame Augusta and Baton Rouge as much as Detroit. At some point though, he and Shonna leave the band behind, holed up in a bar that’s got shitty beer and even shittier booze, but it helps deaden the pain a little. He’ll feel it in the morning, but he’s rather feel that than the alternative, which is looking at his wife and realizing that she’s not that any more.

It’s a mutual decision, he guesses. He agrees with all the things she says, and he wants to explain to her, but he’s never been good with words unless he sets them to music, and she’s tired of lyrics. She never says their names - _Patterson and Cooley, or does she call him Mike? He doesn’t know anymore, doesn’t remember, not sure it matters_ \- but they might as well be there with them at the table. Jason drinks enough for all three of them, and he wonders, as he tells his beautiful wife whom he loves that she’s right, they should stop pretending, if they know. He wonders if she talked it over with them first. He can imagine a pow-wow around the table with a bottle of Jim Beam, like a family with a wayward child, wondering out loud _”What do we do about Jason?”_

He doesn’t go back to the bus that night. He can’t really. He sees her safely back and then takes to walking around the streets. He takes the El train - _Chicago, Jason. It’s Chicago_ \- anywhere it will take him, seeing things he doesn’t recognize and a few things he does. He sits by the water in the cold, shivering in his too-thin jacket like Sam McGee in that poem, and he’s pretty sure that even hell’s not hot enough to warm him up right now.

The next day’s a show and it goes pretty well. He shows up for sound check and he plays his heart out, putting it all into his guitar. Patterson doesn’t come too close and Cooley keeps his distance, and it takes everything he has not to lose control when Shonna kisses his cheek somewhere between the end of it all and the encore. He’s stone sober when they hit the bus, which he can’t quite say for the rest of them, but they’re all clear-eyed enough to know that tonight’s the beginning of the end, whether they’re going to admit it or not. None of them want to is the problem, so they figure out ways it’s going to stick together instead of fall apart. Tweak the sleeping arrangements, make a few adjustments here and there. It’s all gonna be fine.

In his head, Jason watches and wonders how you say goodbye to the people who changed your life, who _gave you your life_. Cooley does straight shots of whiskey and doesn’t meet his eye and Shonna’s sitting next to him like he’s some sort of protective barrier to hide behind. Maybe he is. Jason’s never learned how to breech Cooley’s defenses. Doesn’t imagine he’ll figure it out now. Finish the tour, finish the album. The rest will sort itself out.

The songs come faster now, and he writes them down like they’re lifelines that might save him. He stays in his corner on the bus, picking at his guitar and making it easier. The divorce is final the night they accept the gig from _The Black Crowes_ , but Jason can’t manage to take the ring off. Shonna doesn’t say anything, except sometimes a piece of paper isn’t enough – and he’s not sure if she’s talking about the marriage license or the divorce decree. He takes the ring off the first day back in Muscle Shoals, walking around with his eyes closed to see if it feels any different. His balance feels off, but that might be the road still moving underneath his feet, even though the bus is gone now, just like everything else.

It’s not over though. Shonna and Patterson show up at the studio, playing on the solo stuff that he thinks might be the only thing that saves him. They’re trying to be friends, but he doesn’t know if it’s doable anymore. It feels like there are walls and fences, doors shut and windows barely ajar. It’s like a different world and a different language, and he knows it’s him this time, and he’s grateful for that. It’s nice having someone to blame for how much it hurts. That doesn’t help when they all show up one day though, Cooley in tow like a wayward son, looking more sober than he’s looked in a year. He looks almost happy, which makes Jason smile, until he realizes why he looks happy. It’s not a wife and a kid on the way or even being home. It’s this, this moment that they’re here for.

They divide up his life like it’s dessert, passing pieces to everyone. It’s not phrased that way. No, it’s dressed up in its Sunday clothes. He’s got a solo album and a solo career and he’s tired of being second string. They tell him all the things he can do, all the things he’s doing right. He’s outgrown them. He’s ready to go off in the world on his own. They’re like a Mama bird, shoving him out of the nest and assuming he’s got the wings to fly.

They don’t say that the band’s all Shonna’s got, but it’s implied. Or maybe it’s just implied that the band belongs to Shonna and Shonna belongs in the band far more than Jason ever did. There’s nothing he can say to change their mind, and Patterson’s so hangdog, Jason can’t quite tell them they’re all full of shit. Maybe he can’t tell them that anyway, because he’s been just as miserable as they have been, and the thought of being there when Shonna finds someone new - _and he’s not fool enough to think she won’t, because she will and it won’t fucking be him_ \- isn’t something he thinks he can live with. They don’t say that either, but it’s there. Whipped cream on the piece of his life that Shonna’s taking home.

Patterson ends it permanently, posting a message that lets everyone who’s a real fan know what they’ve already suspected. They’d agreed on that, Jason thinks, but he expected some kind of warning, not to be blindsided by industry reporters calling him at all hours asking him if Shonna’s sleeping with Cooley or Patterson and that’s why he left the band, or if it’s creative differences or what. He puts out a blanket _no comment_ and shuts his door and turns off his phone and drowns his sorrows in a bottle of rye that tastes like it went bad about the time his grandfather was born, but he sucks it down until nothing hurts at all anymore.

Tomorrow it’ll hurt like hell and he can only hope that maybe, like Patterson says, that’s better than not feeling anything at all.  



End file.
